


Una pagina perduta

by sickoi



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Death, Diary/Journal, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24278413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sickoi/pseuds/sickoi
Summary: "If I had the ability to defeat death, I would probably let it win."Often, we all wonder what Thalmor life is like: do they have fun? Do they celebrate with Skyrim's most expensive wine? What are they hiding?A diary page reveals the experience of a young Thalmor, forced by his own culture to make his life a mechanism against heretics. Nothing is more painful than being silent with others and holding onto an evil that grows more and more.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	Una pagina perduta

“ _To my journal,_

_ that it could be a representation of horror to show the repulsive way in which a young Thalmor lives, _

_like me_.”

Since my youth, my parents – pure blood altmer – have repeated to me about our superiority. As a child I was privileged of wealth, but moved away from normalcy. Not that I minded, but in the twinkle of the septim I never found happiness. Children, not of my own race, had the right to play, to get dirty in the mud and not be scolded, to make their world a mess. An amusing mess. I still remember the episode in which my mother, a woman of ancestral severity, slapped me in the face for being dirty, by mistake. The mark of her hand and her long fingers remained etched on my smooth yellowish face. The head was always surrounded by books, my mind was forced to let every single syllable of our culture enter. Numerous are the nights when I let tears run down my face in front of the moons. My only women. I have always asked them the reason for my life, but their answer was an incomprehensible infinity; in this immensity my thought drowns. Arcanum is everything, except mypain. I don't need to talk about my father, he's never been there. Except when it came to punishing me. I, next to him, represented his strong and powerful fake copy. The worthy heir. 

When I came of age, the prison that raised me released me from his suffocating arms. "A joy," I thought. But I was wrong. In Skyrim, hostile air always entered my lungs, stopping me from making my breath work. Often the evil of living I met in the streets: it was the North with a threatening look, it was the Argonian with sharp teeth, it was the Khajiit with nails ready to attack. The embassy, embraced by the soft snow, was gray and bare. The skin on the walls was of a wrinkled seriousness, no matter what room I entered. I didn't even have a place to call home here.  The rules were clear from the start: "Talos flatterers are a threat". In short, it came to murder for hatred; to the propaganda of the assassination only for wickedness. My hands stained with heretic blood were normal, in my new life. Go out, find, kill, impose your power. Many times I have wondered what was circulating in the heads of my peers. Were they happy? Was I the different one? I never dared to ask, I was afraid of my own people. 

Another sore point was my sexuality. The rigid education forced me to bury my impulses in the unconscious. They never allowed me to experience love, the sensation of touching another person's skin. Only once – secretly –I tasted a man's lips. The wet touch made me shiver, despite the beautiful and lovable illusion. Since then, I have intensely wondered what love really was, about the fact that I will die without keeping someone in my heart.  Reader, never be fooled by our clean and elegant appearance, we are stained in the soul. The Altmers are ashamed not of the insults they make, but of the insults they receive; one of our lifestyles has always been that we live in the world only by arrogance.

Would you call this life?

You will ask me why I have never done anything to change the situation, and I will answer that patience is the most heroic of virtues, and I have lost it already for a long time. I am a rebel only by words, because I have never concluded facts. But today I will remedy. Mine may be a testimony, a whim, a wish fulfilled. I beg you, bittersweet death, take me to the deepest seas, let me savor the flesh of love, give me the answers I have always sought, but above all, give me the happiness that I have never experienced.


End file.
